


touch-starved

by k2_b0



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: F, M/M, Ouma not Oma, it’s gay, this was named No Homo Bromo in my drafts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 06:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17038394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k2_b0/pseuds/k2_b0
Summary: It's not gay if they never admit they enjoy the company.





	touch-starved

**Author's Note:**

> how does one.... write a summary

"What the hell do you want from me?"   
  
Momota crossed his arms as he stood in the doorway of his room, Ouma bouncing on his heels in front of him. The shorter was grinning at him like it wasn't in the middle of the night, like it was normal to wake up your friends from their sleep, and like he wasn't dressed in just a plain white tee and underwear.   
  
"I'm just here for a visit," he said cheerfully, "sooooooo..." he stepped forward without warning, pushing past Momota, who stumbled from the force of it. The sound of his bed creaking loudly made him whip his head back only to see Ouma sprawled out across the mattress, sheets still a mess from where he'd gotten up in a hurry.   
  
Then the shorter pulled the sheets over himself swiftly, and didn't move anymore. Momota blinked at him before shutting the door and sighing. Well. What were friends for, yeah? Besides, he'd shared a bed with Ouma before. Nothing new.   
  
Still though, he made sure to lay down on the farthest side of the bed from him, above the covers. Sadly, Ouma didn't seem like he was taking that. His head poked up from underneath the covers, big, tired eyes staring Momota down. He rose a hand up to grip the lip of the sheet and fluttered his eyelashes. "Huh?" He said, "huuuuh? Is Momota-chan scared of facing me while he's lying next to me?"   
  
Momota sighed. "What?" he asked, turning himself over to face the shorter. Ouma smiled at him. And it was clear in the minimal glow from his star-shaped nightlight (that he picked out specifically for Ouma, by the way!) that it wasn't his usual snotty brat smile, no. It was his other smile, the one he saved specially for Momota when they were alone. At least he hoped it was just for him. That sort of thing made him feel like all his hard work was paying off.   
  
Ouma curled in on himself, his hair fluffed up around his face to frame it like a halo. "I said that Momota-chan must be scared of me! Usually he's more caring... why don't you call me 'honey' anymore?" The shorter put a hand to his cheek and tilted into it, tears welling up. "I feel like I married another man. Who are you?"   
  
Momota scoffed and moved to prop himself up on his elbow. "When the hell did we get married? And you know who I am, fucker."   
  
"Do I?" Ouma sniffed, and a fat tear rolled down the bridge of his nose, staining into the pillow. "It doesn't feel like it."   
  
"It doesn't?" The taller said, rolling his eyes, "I let you into my room and you do this to me?" He shifted over, lifting his other arm up and wiping the tear from Ouma's eye. The smaller boy seemed to lean into the touch, and a small smile pulled across Momota's lips. His hand trailed up the side of Ouma's face and into his hair, finding a spot there and staying.   
  
Ouma hummed. "What're you doing," he mumbled, eyes half lidded, "idiot-chan." Each time Momota moved his fingers the other would let his eyes flutter, and god, he was going to milk this for all he could.   
  
"Sometimes I forget how touch-starved you are," Momota mused, gently raking his fingers through the soft locks of hair. The skin under Ouma's eyes crinkled when he smiled.    
  
"Who's touch-starved?" He slurred tiredly, "me? I don't think so." The sound of fabric shuffling was the only background noise, aside from their breathing, as Ouma's hand gently grabbed onto his wrist. "Momota-chan's touch-starved. Why else did he let me into his room?"   
  
"Uh, 'cause I'm a good person?" Momota said, hand stilling. "Besides, you're my partner, moron. I've gotta watch out for ya!"   
  
"Yeah, yeah," Ouma sighed quietly, shaking his head to make Momota start moving again. "Who else is gonna watch out for me other than the guy who tripped over Hoshi-chan in the locker room..."   
  
Momota flushed. "It was one damn time!" He spat, voice loud. "Besides, he's like two feet tall! Are you really gonna call me out for that shit?!"    
  
"Shush," Ouma said, and the taller winced.    
  
"Sorry," he mumbled, and if it wasn't almost entirely dark he would've sworn Ouma's face went red.    
  
Ouma smiled sleepily at him, nuzzled into the hand in his hair. "Cute-chan," he breathed, and then it was Momota's turn to blush.   
  
"...Shut up," he huffed, but didn't make an effort to move his hand from the shorter's hair or to move away when Ouma pressed his face into his chest while he slept.   
  
Momota lay there, hand still with a sleeping body pressed close to his.   
  
Partners in crime could still fall in love, right? He hoped so because, if not? He was  _ so _ fucked.   
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this was in my docs for roughly 4 months hehe. hope you enjoyed reading this bc it was formed in my head after someone touched my hair one (1) time


End file.
